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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25192963">Romantic Hazards at the Ritz: How Not to Snog Your Mortal Enemy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aethelflaed/pseuds/Aethelflaed'>Aethelflaed</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, Asexuality Spectrum, Awkward Kissing, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), But Super Enthusiastic, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Feral Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Holding Hands, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Sappy, Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), to the world</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:54:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,284</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25192963</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aethelflaed/pseuds/Aethelflaed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale is ready to let the world - and one particular demon - know how he feels. </p><p>If only MOUTHS weren't so difficult.<br/>--<br/>Crowley’s finger pulled back, as if awaiting a response, or planning his next move, or - or - or...</p><p>If Aziraphale had to wait through one more moment of suspense, he would discorporate on the spot.</p><p>He seized Crowley’s hand, all at once, pulling it towards him with all his strength - and very nearly pulled the demon out of his chair.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>170</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Aspec-friendly Good Omens</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Romantic Hazards at the Ritz: How Not to Snog Your Mortal Enemy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Discord made me do this.</p><p>Specifically, this fic was created from those bursts of late-night creativity that come from being a few hundred words short of your goal and either wanting to write KISSING or SOFTE very, very fast.  I was then encouraged to post the result.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley held the door for him at the Ritz, which was a charming start to their first <em>post-apocalyptic dinner.</em></p><p>There had to be a better word for it.</p><p>Oh, there was.</p><p>
  <em>Date.</em>
</p><p>Aziraphale felt himself turn rather red at the thought, and walked more quickly, trying to cool down before Crowley could notice. That was <em>not</em> what was going on here, just a dinner between two very good friends who had stood together against angels and demons and the devil himself and who had just spent several hours in each other’s bodies facing down death for each other’s sake…</p><p>Not a <em>date.</em></p><p>“You alright, Angel?” Crowley asked, nudging him with an elbow. It seemed <em>extraordinarily</em> familiar, though perhaps not compared to the hand-holding and whispered half-confessions of the night before. </p><p>But that had been in the privacy of Crowley’s rather ostentatious study whereas this – <em>this</em> – this was the lobby of the <em>Ritz</em>. People could see them! People would make <em>assumptions!</em></p><p>And, Aziraphale discovered, he rather hoped they did.</p><p>He wanted people to notice. He wanted them to <em>talk.</em> After six thousand years of constantly trying to appear <em>less</em> than what they were, of hiding any sign of what they might be – he was ready to cause some gossip, and he didn’t care what sort.</p><p>Oh, my. They should probably discuss this before he did something…<em>extreme.</em></p><p>The maître d’ led them to their usual table, and Crowley pulled out Aziraphale’s chair for him. The angel dropped his gaze again, trying to hide his expression, as he slid into the seat, feeling the chair tuck under him before Crowley moved to his own. Aziraphale unfolded the fine white napkin and quickly dabbed at his face before unfolding it and draping it across his lap.</p><p>Feeling ready, Aziraphale glanced up...to find Crowley’s hand resting...just there...not far at all from where his own would be, if he ever stopped fiddling with the. It was merely an observation, a curiosity, except that no matter how much he prolonged his napkin-adjustments, the hand <em>didn’t move.</em></p><p>As if it were <em>waiting.</em></p><p>Aziraphale’s eyes darted to Crowley, but his expression was exactly what it had always been. Wasn’t it? Or was there perhaps a flicker of something about his lips that might, under the right circumstances, become a smile?</p><p>What might those circumstances be?</p><p>Aziraphale had a thought. He had <em>many</em> thoughts, not all of them suitable to their present location.</p><p>He smoothed the napkin one last time and, as casually as possible, brought his hand to rest on the table. It was perfectly natural for it to land…here…just here, his soft, manicured fingers only a little shy of Crowley’s long, thin ones. But he could reach just a little further and…</p><p>Is that what they were doing now?</p><p>They hadn’t really discussed the <em>rules</em> or <em>expectations</em> of Our Side last night, and Aziraphale was left with something of a sketch, a vague shape of what might be, what could be, if he just reached across that last bit of space, if he just--</p><p>“I’ll be right back with your wine.”</p><p>Aziraphale jerked, just a little, shocked to find that he’d been staring, transfixed, at the last centimeter between them all while Crowley placed their drink order.</p><p>Well. The waiter knew what he liked, at least, so there was no cause for concern.</p><p>Actually, <em>some</em> cause for concern, because Crowley’s pinky had just shifted and was almost close enough to brush Aziraphale’s.</p><p>With one last gulp of air, he let his pinky drift to the left and…</p><p>
  <em>Contact.</em>
</p><p>The entire universe contracted into a few square millimeters of space, and Crowley’s finger was so <em>warm</em> and a little rough, and he appeared to have a hangnail, Aziraphale should talk to him about proper nail care, a thought that entirely abandoned his mind as Crowley’s pinky slid just a little to the right, the pad of it brushing along Aziraphale’s cuticle.</p><p>Then Crowley’s finger pulled back, as if awaiting a response, or planning his next move, or - or - or...</p><p>If he had to wait through one more moment of suspense, he would discorporate on the spot.</p><p>Aziraphale seized Crowley’s hand, all at once, pulling it towards him with all his strength - and very nearly pulled the demon out of his chair.</p><p>“Oh!” he dropped the hand in alarm. “Oh! I’m – I’m so <em>terribly </em>sorry – I don’t know—”</p><p>“Aziraphale.” Crowley straightened his plate and silverware again, studying his own hands as they moved. “Did you want to...hold hands?”</p><p>The angel nodded, staring at his menu, trying to avoid that flat black gaze. It might have been more convincing if the menu wasn’t upside down. And closed. And halfway across the table.</p><p>With a soft <em>sssshhhfft</em> of wooden legs on  fabric, Crowley moved his chair a little closer, and placed his hand palm-up next to Aziraphale’s plate. “Let’s try again,” he said softly. “And…be gentle?”</p><p>Aziraphale was now sure his face was <em>completely</em> red, and also that he didn’t care who saw it. He carefully lowered his unsteady hand to rest on Crowley’s and it was delightful, the heat of it, the roughness of his palm, the way his own slid easily across, until it found a comfortable place to rest, thumbs interlocking but…oh, no…<em>fingers.</em></p><p>He wiggled them nervously, tapping them against Crowley’s, finally folding them down into the gaps between his digits. Not <em>quite</em> tucking them underneath, but resting his fingertips on the table from…from <em>between</em> Crowley’s fingers and <em>oh</em> this felt positively <em>scandalous.</em></p><p>He wanted more.</p><p>He twisted his arm, his elbow, just a little, just enough to brush his jacket against Crowley’s. A little further, until he could feel the heat of him, burning through their sleeves.</p><p>“You alright, Angel?”</p><p>“Mm. Ys. Fine.” He managed, though his voice seemed odd.</p><p>“Only…you’re very red.”</p><p>Then <em>Crowley’s</em> fingers moved, curling up, settling themselves into the grooves between Aziraphale’s knuckles, bringing just a bit of pressure at a time.</p><p>“What do you think?” Crowley asked.</p><p>“I think? What do I…?” He glanced up, and something about the way the light of the chandelier hit Crowley’s glasses meant he could very nearly see through them, see just the hint of an eye, a suggestion of an emotion, and surely they burned, burned in the same way Aziraphale’s heart did, at the sight of the corner of Crowley’s mouth raising in a tiny almost-smile.</p><p>Aziraphale tugged on their hands, pulling himself upright, and he didn’t so much slide as <em>collapse</em> onto Crowley’s lap. Or at least he aimed for the lap, but he only managed to center himself over one leg, and he fell rather heavily.</p><p>“Ah,” Crowley gasped, shaking his hand free. But before Aziraphale could even think what a bad idea this must have been, both of Crowley’s arms were around his waist, balancing him as he leaned closer, closer, falling into –</p><p>His forehead cracked into Crowley’s glasses.</p><p>“Nope,” Crowley said, tipping his head back. “Oh, that almost <em>hurt. </em>Ah…”</p><p>“Oh, not again - I’m <em>so sorry.” </em>Aziraphale reached up to straighten the glasses. “I really should stop trying to…” He was suddenly <em>very</em> aware of the way his fingers were resting, on the glasses, against Crowley’s temples, the heat pouring out of the demon beside him. Aziraphale’s thumb stroked the cold metal. “Er…can I…that is…is it alright…do you want…?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Crowley swallowed. “You can…take them off, Aziraphale.”</p><p>The glasses pulled free with ease, sliding off Crowley’s nose and ears, and folded shut with a click. Aziraphale dropped them on the table, next to Crowley’s plate, then slid his arms around Crowley’s neck, leaning closer, closer, until their foreheads pressed together.</p><p>“Can I try again?”</p><p>“Depends,” Crowley whispered back, his breath brushing against Aziraphale’s lips. “Were you <em>trying</em> to headbutt me the first time?”</p><p>Aziraphale laughed, and Crowley hissed at the sound – or more likely at the feel of it practically inside his mouth. It made Aziraphale bite his lip, embarrassed, but the demon nodded, point of his nose brushing up and down Azirpahale’s. “But remember…”</p><p>“Gently. Right.” He tilted his head, carefully, a little awkwardly, until his lips finally pressed against Crowley’s…cheek. Aiming was <em>extremely</em> difficult.</p><p>He tried again, tracing his lips left a little at a time, never quite breaking contact with the skin. It made Crowley groan and shift and finally bring his own lips around – as well as his nose, which hit Aziraphale’s sharply.</p><p><em>“Crowley!” </em>Aziraphale pulled back, pinching the bridge of his nose to check for damage. Everything <em>seemed</em> in order, but he still gave his best pout. “That wasn’t very sporting.”</p><p>“I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to move,” Crowley grumbled. “Can I try this time?”</p><p>“Ah,” Aziraphale gave his nose one last rub. “Well, I suppose it’s only fair.”</p><p>Crowley surged forward, rather faster than Aziraphale expected as he tried to lean in to meet him halfway, and their skulls cracked together.</p><p>“Ah!” Aziraphale straightened up, but overbalanced and found himself swaying between falling forward or backward off the one thin leg he balanced on, which was itself shifting as Crowley shook his head, eyes shut tight.</p><p>Crowley lifted one arm to press against his forehead, and the sudden lack of support sent Aziraphale toppling, arm flying out to grab at the tablecloth as he went.<a href="#_ftn1" id="_ftnref1" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a></p><p>“Shit!” Crowley’s fingers grabbed for his lapels, too late. Aziraphale leaned - twisted - rolled - and in a strange white blur fell to the ground, pulling the tablecloth – and the plates – and the glasses – and <em>Crowley – </em>after him.</p><p>They wound up in a heap, shattered porcelain and glass all around; demon atop him, a jumble of limbs half-straddling him; the two beings securely wrapped in the white linen shroud.</p><p>Aziraphale’s hand – still twisted up in the tablecloth – covered his face as he groaned. “This is horrible! Complete nightmare! I don’t know why I…oh, <em>Lord,</em> we should just pretend none of this ever…”</p><p>Crowley was laughing.</p><p>“I beg your—” Aziraphale tried to shift to see him more clearly, but that just tugged on a twist of the cloth, pressing them closer, pressing Crowley’s belly into his so that Aziraphale could feel it shaking, feel Crowley’s chest rising, and a moment later – through no effort at all on his part – feel Crowley’s hot breath next to his ear, shuddering and hissing as he laughed and laughed and laughed.</p><p>“What, may I ask, is <em>so very funny?”</em></p><p>One of Crowley’s hands found its way to the cloth over Aziraphale’s face and managed to tug it free.</p><p>And he was…so close.</p><p>Closer than Aziraphale had expected, closer than he’d ever imagined, really, he didn’t know what <em>close</em> actually meant, did he? It wasn’t just about the distance, it was about the glow of those eyes, far softer than any serpent’s had a right to be; it was about that smile, growing here, where no one else could see it, only him, only ever for him; it was about the way one hand stroked at his chin, shaking with nerves, and the way his own, damp with sweat that had nothing to do with the heat and everything to do with unexpected emotions, seemed to materialize from the folds of linen in response, sliding their way into that brilliant red hair, and—</p><p>Footsteps outside their bubble, a voice calling, “Sirs? Are you alright? What hap—”</p><p>Crowley snapped his fingers. “I think we need a little time.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded, and resisted the urge to shove Crowley’s face into his as fast as he could.</p><p>Instead, Crowley lowered it, inch by eternal inch, closing the distance between them. The first kiss landed just on the tip of his nose, the next on the cheek right beside it, then the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth, and then…then…</p><p>It was barely any contact at all, just a gentle brush and pinch as Crowley’s lips puckered against his lower lip. A second, then a third, before Aziraphale realized he should probably be doing something too.</p><p>He tried puckering his own lips, but that just seemed to pull them away, and that wasn’t right. Then he tried opening his mouth and – oh, no, too far.</p><p>“Ow!” Crowley complained, but only pulled far enough away to escape Aziraphale’s teeth. “Are you trying to bite me?”</p><p>“Er, no, I’m just – I’m <em>fairly certain</em> that’s how humans do this?”</p><p>“Is that how they describe it in your books?”</p><p>“Not…as such, no.” Aziraphale sighed. “Well, this feels like a terrible anticlimax, after six thousand years of waiting.”</p><p>“Is it now?” Crowley leaned down and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s jaw. It didn’t feel anticlimactic at all. “How long, exactly, have <em>you</em> been wanting to kiss me?”</p><p>“Ah, well, that is…” Suddenly, it was very difficult to focus on the conversation. “Um, I saw the humans kissing in the Garden, and I thought…<em>That looks lovely.</em> But when I asked Gabriel about it, he said we weren’t to trouble ourselves with such things.”</p><p>“Are you telling me you tried to kiss Gabriel?” Crowley’s lips had moved down to his neck, and when he spoke the teeth scraped against his skin and, oh, maybe biting wasn’t <em>so</em> bad after all.</p><p>“Not – not exactly. Just…wanted to be…sure…it was allowed…”</p><p>“Angel, you’re <em>gasping.” </em>Crowley’s lips circled his throat, and the bowtie started to wobble, tickling his neck. “Do you want me to stop?”</p><p>“Not in the least.” For a second he thought Crowley was going to tear his bowtie off with his teeth, and Aziraphale hadn’t decided how he would stop him, or if he even wanted to – but now the lips were working back up his throat again towards the other side of his face. “Ah. W-where was I? Yes. I saw you on the wall and I thought…er…” Crowley’s mouth hovered over the hinge of Aziraphale’s jaw, breath tickling his ear. “I thought, well, if <em>angels</em> aren’t interested in such things, perhaps a demon—”</p><p>Crowley laughed again, and they were so close, so pressed together, that it reverberated all through Aziraphale. “You <em>wanted</em> me to tempt you, didn’t you? Right from the beginning!”</p><p>“Well, I would have thought the same whoever was there,” Aziraphale insisted, though he wasn’t sure it was true. “It was simple – curiosity, that’s all!” Crowley’s nose brushed against Aziraphale’s cheek as he chuckled, and it would seem that no more kisses were forthcoming. “Well what about you, then? Didn’t you want to kiss me?”</p><p>“What, tempt an angel? On the actual wall of Eden? Of course not!” He shifted, whole body wiggling, as he brought himself down to meet Aziraphale, laying across him entirely. The angel’s breath caught in his throat as everything felt so…so…</p><p>He didn’t know the word for it. But it was <em>good.</em></p><p>Crowley, meanwhile, seemed not to notice. He rested his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder and tugged the tablecloth across himself like a blanket, as if he might go to sleep there, just lying in a bubble of frozen time under a table at the Ritz.</p><p>Well. Aziraphale didn’t <em>entirely</em> object to that, but he’d really have preferred a glass of wine. “If you must know,” Crowley murmured, and <em>Lord</em> he was so close his lips brushed against the veins in Aziraphale’s throat when he spoke, “I was too worried about – about screwing things up. Letting the angel know what an incompetent demon I was. I…guess I wanted to impress you.”</p><p>“Impress me how?” Aziraphale turned his face and pressed his lips to Crowley’s forehead.</p><p>“Well,” Crowley mused, tipping his face back a little to meet Aziraphale. “Thought about showing you my favorite field, down in the Garden, with all the flowers in it. Or…or going down to the apple tree and teaching you how to climb. Thought I was very clever, you know, teaching myself to climb trees. Or even just, I don’t know, putting out my own wing to cover you.”</p><p>“Why didn’t you?” Aziraphale tried to kiss lower, meet Crowley’s nose or cheek or mouth but they were all too far away. “I would have liked that.”</p><p>“Nh. You’re kind of. Scary, you know.”</p><p>“Scary?” Aziraphale was never sure what came over him next.</p><p>He rolled over, letting Crowley tumble free of him, pushing himself up. With a small miracle, the tablecloth untangled, spreading out below them like a picnic blanket, and there he was, hips and belly pressing against Crowley, hands on either side of him, face hovering just above. “Do I frighten you?”</p><p>“Well, I’m a little scared you’re going to accidentally bite me again…”</p><p>Aziraphale snapped playfully at Crowley, as if he were going to bite his nose, and the demon <em>squirmed</em> under him. It was delightful.</p><p>“I am a <em>Principality,</em> the Guardian of this realm, I have defended humans against <em>hundreds</em> of demons, and I’ll have you know I only bite <em>intentionally.”</em> </p><p>“Do your worst, Angel.”</p><p>He let his arms relax just a bit and practically fell down onto Crowley, burying his face in the side of his neck, trying to use his lips and teeth the way Crowley had done to him.</p><p>“Ha, ha – oh – AH! Alright, that – that tickles and hurts at the same time,” Crowley managed. “You and your…holy teeth.”</p><p>“Do you want me to stop?” He was afraid the answer was <em>yes.</em></p><p>“Hmmm.” Crowley wiggled again, bringing himself to where he could look Aziraphale in the eyes. “I want to know, when did you first want to kiss me, not just <em>whoever might be interested, </em>but me, <em>specifically.”</em></p><p>“Ooh,” Aziraphale shifted his arms again, pillowing Crowley’s head upon them. “I…I don’t like to say. Can you go first?”</p><p>“Nh. Fine.” He pressed his lips into Aziraphale’s cheek again. “It was…Rome. After those bloody oysters.” The sensation of Crowley under him, the way his voice seemed to fill the whole world, and all the spaces inside - it was <em>exhilarating. </em>“You’d been talking about…I don’t know what specifically. A million things, and most of them were blessed stupid, but I was starting to think, <em>this angel isn’t so bad.”</em> One of his hands came up to press into the small of Aziraphale’s back, bringing them even closer. “Terrible jokes. Strange taste in food. But he…he <em>gets </em>it. The – the people. The music. The whole thing about <em>real</em> silk versus <em>sea</em> silk. The world. Me.” His face grew serious as his golden eyes bored into Aziraphale. “No one else ever really understood me. Not other demons. Not other angels. Just you. And that was the first night I realized it.”</p><p>“And you wanted to kiss me?”</p><p>“Well, Romans were big on kissing. I could always just…just say I misunderstood the custom or something, right?”</p><p>Aziraphale brought his face down, let the tip of his nose brush Crowley. “I wanted to kiss you then, too.” Crowley gasped, and it pulled at him, rippled through him. “Because I…I don’t know, really. I’d been in Rome for weeks, no one to talk to but humans. And even when the other angels visited…I didn’t enjoy their company anymore. Don’t know if I ever did. But you…you made me smile.” He tried a single, gentle, careful kiss, as soft as he could, onto Crowley’s lips. Lips locked. <em>Almost</em> right. “You always make me smile.” He tried again, just the faintest breath of space between lips, tilting his head a little to avoid crashing noses, not too sudden, not too forceful –</p><p>They met, and it was…</p><p>Well, it certainly wasn’t an anticlimax.</p><p>Crowley made the mistake this time. Through the supernovae that filled his mind, Aziraphale felt the tip of a tongue brush his lip, thought, <em>why not?</em> He opened his mouth a bit further and got rather more than he bargained for.</p><p>“Crowley!” He pushed himself up. “Really!”</p><p>“What? That’s how you’re – I’ve watched <em>plenty</em> of romance movies, I know what comes next!”</p><p>Aziraphale rubbed a hand at his mouth, trying to sit up, but his legs were going entirely the wrong way. “My dear, you have about <em>five times as much tongue</em> as a human, you need to be more caref—” His head slammed against the bottom of the table, and his own teeth sank hard and sharp into his lip.</p><p>“Oh, <em>I </em>need to be careful?” Crowley lay back on his arms. “You’re the one who’s going to get us both killed with his…reckless…whatever you’re doing.”</p><p>“Well, it’s your fault.” Aziraphale pressed a hand to his sore lip and pouted. “I think I’m bleeding.”</p><p>“Are you?” Crowley looked up at him with mock concern. “Think it might be fatal?”</p><p>“See for yourself.” Aziraphale pushed his lip out a little farther.</p><p>Crowley made a noise that someone <em>might</em> call giggling. “What am I supposed to tell from that?” He wriggled a little on the floor, then reached up and walked his fingers up the row of buttons across Aziraphale’s stomach. “I mean, I can see you aren’t comfortable, hunched over like that.”</p><p>“I’m not in the mood,” he said, but made no effort to move, or to fight it when one of Crowley’s fingers hooked the top of his waistcoat, giving an experimental tug.</p><p>“Not in the mood? To be comfortable? To relax?” He tugged again, and Aziraphale let himself take the plunge, down into Crowley’s arms. He landed with all the grace of a falling rock. “Oof. Ow, for Ssssssomeone’s sake, I do <em>need</em> those ribs.”</p><p>“Do you?” Aziraphale shifted, pressing a hand to Crolwey’s side. “I don’t remember you being very sympathetic about my wounds.”</p><p>“Wounds? Your <em>wounds?”</em> Crowley’s hand came up and caught the side of his face. “Oh yes, <em>battle scars</em> there. What about mine? You’ve repeatedly tried to kill me tonight, you know.”</p><p>“Well, I have to thwart whatever evil plot you might be trying to enact.”</p><p>“My evil plot?” Crowley seemed to melt into liquid below him, flowing, twining, and suddenly Aziraphale was pressed into the tablecloth while Crowley hovered above him again. “And just what, exactly, am I supposed to be doing?”</p><p>Aziraphale rubbed at his lip again, trying to keep the put-upon act going. “You’re leaving your enemy writhing in pain, you scoundrel.”</p><p>“Oh. Well.” Crowley bent closer, closer, until Aziraphale could feel him again, the nose just to the side of his own, the breath caressing his lips. He caught himself arching up to meet them, but Crowley pulled just out of reach. “Ah, there I go again. Torturing you. Tempting you.”</p><p>“You’ll never break me, foul fiend.”</p><p>“Won’t I?” The tip of his tongue brushed Aziraphale’s lower lip – then another tip. Forked tongue. The two tips traced separately across the damp skin of his lip, and he shivered. “Too much?” Crowley whispered.</p><p>All Aziraphale could do was shake his head.</p><p>The tongue came back again, gently flicking, tugging his lip down, and Crowley leaned close and gently kissed it. Something tingled, not just the electricity of the demon’s touch, but the tiniest <em>fraction</em> of healing, dancing across Aziraphale’s mouth, sending golden shimmers through his entire body.</p><p>“How’s that for a temptation?”</p><p>“Oh, my darling,” Aziraphale said, voice breathy. “Do it again.”</p><p>“Again? You’re not the one injured. Look at my <em>ribs.”</em></p><p>Crowley was grinning, crouching over him. Probably expected another argument.</p><p>What he didn’t expect was Aziraphale’s hands sliding up to his shoulders, nudging his jacket, letting it slide down his back to drape across Aziraphale’s legs.</p><p>“Uh…Angel…?” Aziraphale’s fingers hesitated over the black shirt buttons. “What are you doing?”</p><p>What <em>was</em> he doing? Good Lord, this isn’t what he expected when he stepped in here today. “You…told me to look at your ribs.” His fingers flicked open one button, then another, but after that were shaking too hard to continue.</p><p>“Aziraphale.” One long, thin hand stroked Aziraphale’s fingers. “Are you sure?”</p><p>“Ah, well, I…” It was suddenly as hot as the molten core of the earth. He couldn’t breathe, and oh, now his hands were sweating again. “Is everyone…still frozen?”</p><p>“At least another hour. Two if I top it up in a bit.” Crowley tugged the hand up to his lips, tried to kiss the fingers, but his lips had gone tight and nervous, too. “Whatever we do. No one will know but us.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded. But he didn’t reach for the buttons again. Was Crowley talking about…? Was that what <em>Aziraphale</em> had been suggesting? He tried to make sense of everything he’d felt this evening.</p><p>“I…I want to. I never wanted to before but…I think…”</p><p>Crowley was looking at him. With terrifying intensity.</p><p>“We should…um…” Aziraphale shut his eyes. “We should talk about…er…parts. And ah, and what we…how we…” He swallowed, feeling chills despite the heat. Suddenly stopping, needing to put it into actual <em>words</em> made it so much harder.</p><p>He felt the weight across him shift. Crowley guided the hand he held back to the ground, then lowered himself to lay in the curve of that arm. “Let’s not,” he said.</p><p>“Oh.” Aziraphale didn’t know if he felt relieved or disappointed. He should <em>know </em>which, shouldn’t he? “Oh, we don’t…that is…I’m fine to-to-to continue, you know. I started all this and…”</p><p>“Let’s not,” Crowley repeated.</p><p>“Ah.” Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open to meet Crowley’s serious gaze. “Wh…what…” The hot and the cold faded, and he just felt embarrassed. Humiliated. He’d assumed…</p><p>Crowley’s hand again, brushing his cheek. “Angel? What’s wrong?”</p><p>“I just thought…” His breath shook in his chest. Should he pull away? “Isn’t this…what you want?”</p><p>“I want…” The hand ran around to the back of Aziraphale’s neck, fingers pressing into his hair. “What I want, more than anything, is to see my friend smile. And if this isn’t going to do it, then no. Not here. Not today. Not ever, if that’s what you want.”</p><p>He shut his eyes again, feeling the water pool in them, threatening to spill out any moment. “And…if I don’t know what I want?”</p><p>Crowley wiggled a little closer, head finding that spot on Aziraphale’s shoulder again. “Is…is this alright? I…I think I could be happy forever, with just <em>this.”</em></p><p>Aziraphale gathered Crowley into his arms, pressing them closer. Something entirely new – soft and delicate and stronger than the forces that held atoms together – poured through him and, he hoped, into Crowley. “Yes. I like this.”</p><p>“Good. We start here, and just…we figure it out, alright? You and me. No expectations, no demands, no rules. Just…”</p><p>“One rule.” Aziraphale pressed his lips into Crowley’s cheek. “We make each other smile.” He felt the skin fold under his kiss, imagined that little hidden smirk growing on Crowley’s face.</p><p>“Yeah. S’a good rule. But no faking. If you’re not happy, you say so.”</p><p>“Of course.” And Aziraphale felt his own smile growing, bubbling up from that new emotion within.</p><p>They lay like that for a long time, drifting, content. Just listening to each other breathe.</p><p>Finally, Crowley shifted, pulling away. “We should probably start cleaning up. Unless you want everyone to remember our little fall.”</p><p>“I don’t care,” Aziraphale said, though he could feel the heat in his face. “Well, I care a little, I suppose,” he amended. “I <em>shouldn’t…”</em> He rubbed at his brow. “Did…did a great <em>many</em> people see?”</p><p>Crowley crawled out from under the table, sitting up on his haunches. He glanced at the waiter, at the nearby tables, over his shoulder, towards the piano. “Looks like at least…twenty people? Maybe thirty?”</p><p>“Oh,” he groaned, valiantly making an effort to crawl out but not quite ready to see that. “That is…a bit more than I intended.”</p><p>“I can unwind everyone’s memory. About a minute.” He clicked his fingers and the tablecloth – the dishes – the glasses – the kettle – all sprang back into place.</p><p>“As if it never happened,” Aziraphale said, though his voice seemed rather higher than he intended.</p><p>Crowley took his hand, raised it to his lips, and this time they were soft and warm and welcoming. “It happened. But no one needs to know but us.”</p><p>“I…yes…” Crowley settled into his seat, rebuttoning his shirt. Aziraphale scooped up the jacket that had gotten tangled around him, shook it out.</p><p>“Almost forgot,” Crowley said, plucking it from his fingers and tugging it back on. “There. Now let’s have a nice dinner and—”</p><p>Aziraphale slid onto his lap, properly balanced this time, draping his arms around Crowley’s neck.</p><p>“Eh – nh – mjk –”</p><p>“This <em>is</em> how I was sitting.” Aziraphale fought back a laugh at Crowley’s expression, pursing his lips to hold in his smile. “And…I don’t mind them remembering this, if you don’t.”</p><p>“Bastard,” Crowley grumbled, but he smiled as he said it. “Just…hand me my glasses.”</p><p>Aziraphale reached for the table, and found them exactly where he’d left them, despite the – well – <em>everything.</em> He unfolded the black lenses and slid them onto Crowley’s nose, settling them in place. “Is that better?”</p><p>“Oh, yes.” A confident flash of teeth, and Crowley’s arms were around his middle again. “Perfect.” One last press of the lips – soft and quick and with the promise of a million more, every day, for the rest of time –</p><p>And the world started up again.</p><p>“—pened over – Oh! I beg your pardon.” The waiter glanced around in confusion, slightly embarrassed to have interrupted.</p><p>Aziraphale realized quite a number of people were looking, with no idea why they were doing so. But he’d had a chance to think, and he knew what he wanted them to remember.</p><p>“Ah, well, since you’re here, please replace whatever wine we ordered with the finest champagne in the house. We’ve just become engaged!” With a flick of his fingers, the empty minute in everyone’s memory was filled with an appropriately romantic proposal.</p><p>“Angel,” Crowley hissed, as the room broke into murmurs and scattered applause.</p><p>“Sorry, is it alright that they know?” He leaned closer to whisper in Crowley’s ear. “I can change it to something else, but it has to be quick. I should have asked if that—”</p><p>“Glk – snf – prp – yeah, that works,” Crowley finally managed, dropping his voice to a hiss. “Hope you made it <em>really</em> extravagant. I don’t do things by half.”</p><p>“My dear, who ever said <em>you</em> would do the asking?”</p><p>“Bastard,” Crowley whispered again, lips tickling his ear, and Aziraphale could <em>hear</em> it, that smile that no one else knew about.</p><p>Aziraphale slid back into his own chair, fighting to keep his face straight as their champagne arrived, which was difficult when he realized they’d forgotten to fix Crowley’s hair before restarting time. Ah, well. It was certainly a dashing look.</p><p>“You know,” he started, mind searching for an appropriate toast. “I like to think that <em>none of this</em> would have worked out if you weren’t, at heart, just a <em>little</em> bit of a good person.”</p><p>Crowley settled back in his seat, looking far too pleased with himself. “Or if you weren’t, deep down, just enough of a <em>bastard</em> to be worth knowing.”</p><p>That wave of warmth, of peace, of bubbling joy rode through him again, and for a second Aziraphale had to look away, try to bring his heart back under control. But why should he? He raised his eyes just in time to catch what he swore was a wink behind Crowley’s glasses. “To the world.”</p><p>Aziraphale raised his own champagne. “To the world.”</p><p> </p><p><a href="#_ftnref1" id="_ftn1" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> There is a trick stage magicians do, where they pull a tablecloth and leave all the dishes perfectly in place. Aziraphale had never successfully accomplished this in his life, and rest assured, he will not accomplish it this day.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading!</p><p>This fic has become the resting place for a *very* silly failed-making-out scene originally intended for "Sawdust of Words" which rather clashes with the overall tone of the series. It pretty much went exactly like this, only at the bookshop, and really *under the table at the Ritz* is a far better location. (I mean, it still *happens* in SoW, it's referenced in "Sealed" but maybe now I can tone it down a little when the time comes to write the scene.)</p><p>Another fic that accomplishes a similar level of failed-first-kiss-but-they-enjoy-it-so-we'll-call-it-a-win is EdnaV's <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22361584">"Theory and Practice of Making Out with a Demon"</a> which I also recommend you check out!</p><p>As always, thank you for joining me!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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